


Take This Rain

by captaincharming



Series: My Problem is You [2]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Everyone deserves better, Explicit Sexual Content, I'm Sorry, Infidelity, M/M, No Cult Ending, it's love, it's more than an affair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 20:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11813352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincharming/pseuds/captaincharming
Summary: “This is an affair, Robert. I thought you were familiar with the way affairs are conducted.""Yeah, I'm real familiar,” he agrees, not looking away now. This is too important. “That ain't what this is."





	Take This Rain

**Author's Note:**

> it's always darkest before the dawn...
> 
> this part is from robert's pov

The yelling starts at 8 p.m., right around the time Robert is thinking of heading to Jim and Kim’s for an evening of cheap drinks and bad atmosphere. It’s his favorite place.

Unfortunately, it’s Mary’s too, which Robert assumes is what the fight is about in the first place. It’s a sort of unspoken contest between the two of them to see who can down the most shots before the other one gets there. Mary is kicking his ass lately, but only because her husband keeps catching Robert on his way out the door, pulling him into the Christiansen’s garage for some dirty necking, sometimes with a little heavy petting thrown in for good measure. It keeps things interesting. Robert’s okay with continuing his losing streak if it means he gets Joseph to himself for a few minutes a day.

Now, though, it seems like Mary might be the one delayed. Robert’s out on his back porch when he hears them, chain smoking before he heads out, trying to help himself stave off the urge for the rest of the night. Why a person isn’t allowed to smoke in bars anymore is beyond him. It ain’t like it’s a health food store. Everyone in there is trying to do harm to their bodies, one way or another.

_Goddamn government, can’t let a person kill himself in peace._

Joseph’s voice catches his attention first because of course it does. Robert’s like a lap dog at this point, trained to perk up at any sign of Joseph. He sounds like he does when he’s about to blow a gasket, but he’s working real hard not to. It’s his youth minister voice. The one Robert usually shuts up by sticking his tongue in his-

“Stop talking to me like one of your little delinquent urchins!”

Mary this time, much louder. Joseph’s voice is a murmur, probably a defense of said urchins, and Robert steps off the side of his porch, closer to the fence that separates their backyards.

“Mary, I’m just trying to-”

“Oh, I know exactly what you’re trying to do. You’re such a goddamn hypocrite. You think you can tell me what I can and can’t do, meanwhile you’re off doing god knows what with-”

“I wish you would watch your language when we’re outside.” Joseph sounds resigned, like he’s realized the fight is past the point of diffusion. Mary’s laugh is cold.

“Who are you afraid’s gonna hear? Robert? Because I’m pretty sure-”

There’s the sound of the sliding door closing sharply, and Mary’s incredulous voice is reduced to a muffle. Robert can hear that it’s definitely escalated into a full-blown fight, but the details are beyond him now. It sounds like something he doesn’t really want to hear, anyway, not unless he’s some sort of masochist.

He stubs out his last cigarette, tossing the butt over the privacy fence into Joseph’s yard, just to annoy him. He’s less enthusiastic about the trip to Jim and Kim’s, now that both his drinking buddy and his clandestine pitstop are out of commission.

Back inside, nothing can hold Robert’s attention for long. He tries to catch up on _Long Haul Paranormal Ice Road Ghost Truckers,_ but he keeps imagining he can hear shouts that don’t come from Callum or Flynt. Muting the TV, he listens for a moment. Sure enough, he can pick out Joseph’s usually modulated voice raised to octave he can’t typically reach without Robert’s help. Robert winces on his behalf, knowing how upset he’ll be if he finds out anyone could hear this. Joseph is extremely concerned with public opinion, and this won’t help his image. Robert feels some measure of guilt for the role he’s played in the fight. It’s been getting worse lately, it seems.

They’ve tried to be careful since they started this...thing they’ve got going, cognizant of the position Joseph holds in the community, and Mary’s feelings, but things slip through. Mary had recognized the tattoo, of course she had, and wasn’t so convinced by Robert’s mumbled story about a confiscated stick-and-poke kit and a trip to Margaritaville. Or zone. Whatever the fuck Joseph calls his little retreats. She’d shut up about it once Robert had offered to get the next round, but he knows she’s just biding her time before bringing it up again. May even be throwing it in Joseph’s face right now.

Joseph is also too handsy, seemingly unable to contain little affectionate brushes across Robert’s back or neck or _hands._ Jesus, that kid has a thing for hands. They’ve gotten more than a few odd looks from their neighbors when Joseph is feeling particularly tactile, usually after they’ve fucked. Robert sympathizes, he really does, because there aren’t too many things he’d rather be doing than touching Joseph wherever he deems appropriate, but there’s a time and place.

More shouts prompt Robert into action. He can’t sit around and listen to this all night, but he also can’t bring himself to face Mary when she inevitably turns up at the bar. He can’t stand the turmoil he’s causing them, at least not sober. Robert’s a coward. He’s always been a coward. He never could face up to the problems he caused in his own marriage; he sure as hell ain’t stickin’ around to watch how he screwed up someone else’s.

He drives straight to the liquor store, two bottles of whiskey and zinfandel each, but beyond that, he has no plan. He cruises aimlessly for a while, thinking about heading back to his place and seeing if Mary is still around, but that fight sounded like a doozy. He doubts they spend the night under the same roof. And if Mary is pushing Joseph on their relationship, Robert also doubts he’ll find the minister on his doorstep tonight.

It strikes him suddenly, and he feels like an idiot for not thinking of it sooner. Hanging a definitely, completely legal u-turn, Robert heads for the pier. Joseph’s yacht is the place he feels most at home, and he’d given Robert a key to the cabin months ago. Robert loves being on the boat with him. He feels a certain amount of possession over the Joseph he sees when they’re out on the water together. It’s the only time he’s truly Robert’s, worries of kids and wives and reputations lost to the sea, wine and wind bringing a flush to Joseph’s ethereal face. On the yacht, Robert is the one who can’t keep his hands to himself.

The pier is deserted when Robert gets there. A small blessing, really. He doesn’t need any of those inquiring-minds types poking around his business there. He doesn’t linger on deck for the same reason, letting himself into the cabin and collapsing on the couch immediately. There are clothes and dishes scattered sporadically, evidence of the increased time Joseph’s spent here lately. Robert knows some of it is from their joint time, with the yacht offering the perfect amount of privacy to carry on their affair. But he also knows things have been rough at home for Joseph these past few months (again, his fault), and the other man is probably treating the boat as a refuge.

Robert breaks into one of the bottles of whiskey, far too sober for any sort of meditative thinking. He drinks steadily for a while, eyes focused on a distant point through one of the big windows behind the bed. The docked boat sways gently with the tides which, combined with the whiskey, serves to lull Robert into a daze. The more relaxed he becomes, the more his mind wanders, past thoughts of waves and sunsets, back to Joseph. His thoughts never stray too far from Joseph, if he’s honest. It starts out with the usual porny nonsense, snapshots of the minister’s mouth and hips and cock flitting behind his eyes, leaving him half-hard and contemplating bringing himself off while he waits for the real thing. Robert decides against it, though. He’s not as young as he once was. He’s more of a one and done kinda guy now, much as he hates to admit. Joseph is still young and virile, and it irks him he can’t go as many times as the other man. Joseph laughs at him when he says as much, kissing him until he can’t help but shake the disappointment. And take Joseph in hand, or mouth, get him there on his own and-

Damn it, where the fuck is he anyway? Robert forces himself away from the sleazy train of thought before he ruins the night for them both. He can’t drive Joseph out completely, though, turning the fight he’d overheard and the implications over in his mind, now properly muddled from the alcohol.

They’ve maybe become a little reckless, growing more comfortable around each other, and therefore less careful. Early this week, they’d nearly been caught out in Craig’s kitchen, Joseph pressed up against the counter with Robert between his legs, whispering filth in his ear. Craig had wandered in, searching for God knows what, gluten-free buns or something equally horrifying, and cleared his throat uncomfortably. In a truly brilliant display of on-the-spot thinking, if he did say so himself, Robert had forced Joseph’s head back, tilting him into the bright light above the sink. They’d pretended he was searching Joseph’s eye for an imaginary piece of ash from the bonfire out back, each playing his part well enough that Craig had thrown himself into helping, bending Joseph over the sink to rinse his perfectly healthy eye. Still, it had been too close for Joseph’s comfort. He’d pulled back a little since, ever-present guilt and fear of discovery bubbling near the surface again. It ebbs and flows, but lately it seems there’s been a little too much flow.

Robert blows out a breath, suddenly too tired to deal with this anymore. He’s three-fourths into this bottle of whiskey, well on his way to drunk, and he misses Joseph like a limb. He stumbles his way to the bed, preferring the abeyance of sleep to his own company any longer.

Mindful of Joseph’s fussiness about clean sheets, he strips out of everything he’s wearing, down to the underwear he’d turned inside out this morning rather than start a load of laundry, and then, on second thought, loses those too. The sheets are cool and smell like Joseph. Robert has no trouble finding sleep, comforted by the thought that when he wakes, Joseph himself will likely be there.

An undetermined amount of time later, Robert wakes with a start, slightly disoriented. He's not sure where he is at first, the darkened room not providing any clues. As he slowly comes into himself, he can smell Joseph everywhere and realizes he must be on his yacht, right around the same time he realizes there's a hand rubbing circles into the jut of bone at his shoulder. "Hey, stud," he mumbles, recognizing the softness of that hand. "Figured you'd turn up eventually."

"Oh? Are you clairvoyant now?" Joseph’s voice is tight, the clipped words nearly spit out. Robert rolls over with a frown, Joseph letting his hand fall away easily. His face is impassive in the dark, but he's radiating tension. "What are you doing here, Rob?"

Robert is startled, not by the question, but by the way it’s posed. Almost as if… "You don't want me here." That isn't a question. Robert fights to keep his voice cold. Emotionless. This is definitely not the reaction he expected, and he’s disappointed, but he’ll be damned if he ever outstays his welcome. He sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, ready to stand, but Joseph puts a hand on his bare thigh, higher than propriety dictates.

"No, Rob, no. Of course I want you here. I always want you. It's just..." Joseph sighs, sounding chastened. He pinches the bridge of his nose, head hanging. He looks tired, Robert notices, now that they're face to face. There’s something subtle around his eyes that shatters the illusion of his having it all together, all the time. Robert almost likes him like this. "It's just been a long night." Before Robert can ask, Joseph glances over at him, a hint of amusement in his reddened eyes. "I was looking for you, you know?" Joseph smiles, not quite reaching his eyes, crinkling his nose ironically.

Robert drops a hand over the one on his leg, thumb tracing idly over Joseph's knuckles. Joseph laces their fingers together. He's a big sucker for hand holding. "Yeah? Where?" Robert asks, surprised.

Joseph nods, eyes closing around a yawn. He leans his head on Robert’s shoulder. "Yeah. Your house, first. Then the cemetery. Then that bench at the park. Then that lookout, outside of town." Joseph squeezes his hand, a hint of annoyance creeping back into his tone. "You've gotta start turning your phone on, babe."

Robert casts a guilty look at the jeans he left crumpled on the floor, knowing his phone rests in one of the pockets, on silent and probably full of missed calls and texts. "Sorry."

Joseph hums, shaking his head a little. The drag of his hair sends goosebumps creeping across Robert’s bare skin. "S'okay," Joseph yawns again. "I found you."

Robert shifts, wrapping an arm around Joseph's shoulders, turning into him so their chests are pressed together. He kisses his ear, his hair, pulling the collar of his polo back to feel the warmth of the skin at the base of his neck. “I’ve missed you,” he admits to Joseph’s shoulder, the time they’ve spent in the sun above deck bringing out the freckles smattered across his skin. Joseph's fingers flutter against his thigh, another hitching little sigh ghosting across Robert's collarbone. He seems like he could fall asleep there, but Robert knows some things are better hashed out in the dark than by the cruel light of day. He keeps his mouth pressed to Joseph’s skin, anywhere he can reach, as he talks.

"So what was all that with Mary?"

It's against Robert's nature to ask invasive questions, but Joseph is his...whatever, and he's obviously hurting. Robert is not incapable of compromise.

Joseph flinches, a little, covering it by snuggling deeper into Robert’s side. "What makes you think something happened with Mary?" Forced nonchalance. Typical Joseph. Robert doesn’t let him get away with it.

"I could hear you squallin’ from my house, sugar." He smiles, kissing the crown of Joseph's head. "Can't hide nothin’ from me."

Joseph pulls back, less amused. "You heard us?"

Robert rubs his back, soothing little circles that cause his eyelids to droop. "Yeah, man. Couldn't always make out what you were sayin', but I could tell it was nothing good."

Joseph is frowning harder now, shaking his head. "But...so...okay, but then why are you here?" There's more he wants to ask, Robert can tell. And he will. One thing at a time.

Robert shrugs, lopsided. "I figured you wouldn’t be spending tonight at home. And I wanted to spend it with you. And I also figured if I could hear you squallin' in yours, she could hear you squallin’ in mine." He throws in a lascivious wink. It misses the mark.

"First of all, I don't 'squall'!" Joseph squalls.

Robert snorts inelegantly. "Yeah, baby, you do. Especially when I play my cards right." He winks again, and Joseph smacks him, a blush settling high on his cheeks. Robert presses their foreheads together, just for a moment. "You're lucky that house on the other side of you is empty, or those neighbors would know all your business, too. Even still, no tellin' how far that racket carried."

Joseph’s eyes are closed, tension pulling his shoulders tight beneath Robert’s touch. Robert caresses the tattoo hidden under his sleeve, knowing that reminding him of their connection helps ground him.

Or not. Joseph stands up abruptly, pacing to the door and back in three quick strides. It’s not a huge cabin, but still. Impressive.

“So you think other people could hear us? I told Mary to keep it down!” he says, mostly to himself. He hasn’t ceased his pacing.

“Like I said, ain’t no tellin’. It’s not like I took a poll, Joe.” Joseph shoots him a dirty look, but Robert doesn’t feel guilty. He gives what he gets. “Tell me what happened.”

“I made the mistake of asking her about her plans!” Joseph says in a rush, throwing his hands up exasperatedly. “God forbid I take an interest in her life.” He sighs again, hands running through his hair, messing up his already drooping coiffe. Robert waits, knowing he’ll eventually keep talking without prompting. He thinks about getting dressed, but doesn’t really want to interrupt whatever Joseph’s going through. He doesn’t seem to mind Robert’s nakedness, anyway.

“She came in the kitchen while I was on the deck grilling, so I just kind of called in to her, asking her where she was headed,” Joseph continues, like Robert knew he would. “She said Jim and Kim’s, and I must have pulled some involuntary face because then she started yelling.” He turns imploring eyes on Robert. “I didn’t mean anything by it, but she started in on me about judging her, and I said that I would never judge her, I was just questioning some of her decisions, and she said stop-”

“Talking to her like one of your delinquent urchins, yeah. I heard,” Robert offers, unhelpfully, apparently because Joseph turns that glare back on him again.

“That’s _not_ what I was doing,” he insists, chest puffed up indignantly. It would be kinda cute, if it weren’t directed at Robert. “But she _does_ spend most every night there, and that isn’t the sort of reputation you want to cultivate.”

“It’s the one I have,” Robert replies, face pinched in a scowl. “You got a problem with me, too?”

Joseph waves a hand dismissively, not meeting Robert’s eyes. “You don’t have four young children, Robert. It’s different.”

“Where are your kids, by the way? Did Mary not end up going out?” Robert asks, stomach sinking at the thought of them lying in bed, turning over their parents’ blowout in their heads and wondering if it was their fault.

Joseph comes to a halt, and the look he fixes Robert with is ice cold. “I don’t fight with my wife when my children are in the house, Robert.” His tone matches his eyes. Robert almost shivers.

“You’re already a better dad than I was, then,” Robert says, placatingly. Joseph’s eyes soften, if only incrementally.

“Mary’s parents took them for the weekend.” He blows out a breath, finally coming back to sit next to Robert again. “Which is why I should have just let Mary go, earlier. I was really looking forward to spending the evening with you.” He slips a hand back up Robert’s thigh, squeezing meaningfully, and just like that, Robert’s ready to toss the conversation aside entirely. That’s how they’ve approached the relationship so far, taking turns distracting each other with sex when the topic gets a little dark, and if it ain’t broke, why fix it?

Except there’s a heaviness about Joseph tonight that makes it impossible for Robert to brush it off. He catches the hand steadily creeping higher, bringing it to his mouth, kissing Joseph’s palm. “You’re still spending the evening with me. So tell me what happened.”

Joseph watches him for a moment, letting Robert press the hand he’s still holding to his face. Joseph curls his fingers against Robert’s jaw briefly before falling back against the sheets, taking his hand with him. He covers his face with both hands, words coming out muffled through his fingers.

“She said I had no right to judge her, that I carried on in ways that made her look like an angel by comparison. She mentioned the tattoo,” he adds, wincing. Robert looks to the offending mark, wishing he could make himself regret it. He can’t, but if Joseph does then maybe- “Should have hidden it better,” Joseph finishes, flashing Robert a wane smile from behind his hands.

“I like it where it is,” Robert replies gruffly, stretching out alongside Joseph with a weary sigh. Joseph curls into him instantly, warming Robert’s self-professed stone heart. “Doesn’t prove nothing, anyway. Lots of people have matching tattoos.”

“Lots of couples, too.” Joseph smiles up at him, chin resting on Robert’s chest, and Robert realizes he’s made a grave oversight. Joseph’s been here at least 15 minutes, and Robert hasn’t kissed him once. He corrects the mistake right away, taking Joseph by the shoulders to haul him up. Joseph makes a soft noise of surprise, tilting his head into the kiss. Robert bites him, a little, sucking his bottom lip for just a second before pulling back. “Hi,” he says, pitching his voice low, the way that always gets Joseph flushing.

“Hi,” Joseph breathes back, tips of his ears going red. He’s so goddamn easy. “What was that for?”

“Hadn’t done it yet.” Robert pauses, catching Joseph in another brief but dirty kiss. Joseph chases his mouth when he pulls back again, and damn if that isn’t the hottest thing. “Wanted to,” Robert adds, thumbs sweeping up under the sleeves of Joseph’s polo. “Didn’t mean to interrupt you, go on.”

Joseph looks lost, eyes still on Robert’s mouth. “I don’t even know what I was saying.”

Robert laughs, pushing Joseph’s head back down to his chest, carding both hands through his already-mussed hair. “What else happened in your brawl?”

“It wasn’t a brawl,” Joseph complains, but he continues anyway. “We haven’t really had it out with each other for a while, so it was one of those fights that just keeps looping back around on itself.” He takes a shuddery sort of breath, arms tightening around Robert’s midriff. “Same old, same old, really. She accused me of being a hypocrite, I criticized her parenting. Ugly stuff, but nothing new.” He rubs his cheek thoughtfully against Robert’s chest, reconsidering. “Well, except the you stuff. We’ve never fought about you before.”

“Sorry, darlin’” Robert offers, hating himself all over again. Joseph shakes his head, kissing his collarbone.

“She never came out and accused me of an affair. It was just an insinuation.”

“And you didn’t...confirm it?” Robert hedges to guess. Joseph shakes his head again, frowning up at Robert.

“Obviously not.” He doesn’t give Robert a chance to reply, which is good, because there’s a distinct echo of ‘why not?’ reverberating in his head, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to hear the answer to that one. “I just can’t figure out when it got this bad,” Joseph is saying, voice small, and Robert sighs out a breath into his hair. ”We were happy once, you know?”

Robert chuckles, throat tight. “Yeah? Coulda fooled me.”

“It’s true,” Joseph insists, flopping over onto his back. He turns his head on the pillow to look at Robert, but the open sorrow on his face is too much for Robert’s guilty conscience, and so he keeps his eyes firmly focused on the ceiling. “Back when we first got married, we didn’t have any problems. She was in school, I was in seminary. I really thought my life was gonna work out perfectly, you know?”

Robert doesn’t know. He’d never experienced that sort of clarity. He’d married his wife because she was pregnant, and that’s what you did when you got a girl a pregnant. He’d been a shitty husband, he is a shitty father, and the best thing he’s ever had in his life is lying next to him, lamenting the dissolution of a relationship with someone who isn’t him. “So what happened?” he asks finally, when it seems like Joseph isn’t going to continue without some sort of acknowledgement.

Joseph is quiet for a minute, clearly working out what he wants to say. Robert searches the sheets between them, looking for his hand. Joseph offers it up without complaint, tangling their fingers and squeezing. Robert waits.

“I love my kids,” Joseph says eventually, a whisper, like they aren’t the only two around. “I’ll never regret being with Mary because she’s the reason I have them. But after Chris came along,” he pauses, digging the fingers of his free hand into his eyes, “things...changed between us.” He looks at Robert again, expression drawn tight. Robert can’t do anything but grimace back, hoping it comes off as sympathetic. “We were so young, and Mary wasn’t ready to give up the freedom she had in college, but there was no way I could drop out of seminary. My dad-” Joseph stops again, throat working dryly. “He’d made it clear from the time I was a kid that I was to be a minister, and he was already pretty peeved with me for the gap years I took after high school.” Robert reaches out to rub his tattoo again, and Joseph smiles in confirmation. “He was paying for school, helping us with rent. We’d have been sunk without him.”

“Why’d you get married in the first place, if Mary was living it up?” Robert considers for a second, trying not to offend him but needing to know. “Your dad force you into that, too?”

“We wanted to get married,” Joseph insists, shaking his head. “And I wanted to go to seminary. It just would have been nice to come to that conclusion on my own.” He sighs again, shifting restlessly. Robert knows he’s uncomfortable talking about this, like he’s betraying the confidences of his marriage to Mary. But it’s about goddamn time they get this all out there. So he doesn’t offer him an easy out, no matter how much he wants to just roll over and cover Joseph’s body with his own, get lost in his touch for a while.

“You didn’t grow up in the church like Mary and I did,” Joseph continues, settling closer to Robert again, maybe to avoid meeting his eyes. “Marriage and family are the only things that matter, the only goal you’re striving toward.” He laughs without humor, shaking the bed a little. “We were practically given up as lost causes by the time we got together, honestly. All of our youth group friends were married with at least one kid at that point. 23 and 21 is old for good church kids.”

Robert scoffs. “Damn, you were basically old maids. Even I got married younger than that.”

Joseph lifts his head, surprised. Not that Robert can blame him. He’s not offered up details about his own uncivil union. Joseph wants to press, Robert can tell, so he resigns himself to the conversation. He’s expecting the same from his lover, anyway.

“We were 18. She was pregnant.” Robert shrugs, like it doesn’t affect him. “It’s what you did.”

“I must sound like an idiot,” Joseph says, eyes on Robert’s face. “I had no idea you were so young. I’m so-”

Robert pulls him down, kissing him messily. He doesn’t need his sympathy. Or empathy, as the case may be. Robert made his choices, and he’s living with them. He doesn’t want to delve into the rhyme and reason behind the collapse of his own marriage. They were two people who were never meant to be together, and too stubborn to fix it. Robert hopes that isn’t the case with Joseph and Mary. He knows he’s treading dangerous ground, letting himself get so attached to a married man, but he’s a fool like anyone else. Men never leave their wives, but this time is different!

He releases Joseph with a harsh gust of breath, lying back against the mattress. Joseph runs the back of a shaky hand across his mouth, pulling a smirk from Robert. “So I assume things kept on gettin’ worse the more kids you two popped out?”

Joseph looks like he’s getting conversational whiplash, blinking at Robert for several long seconds before he answers. “Yeah, I...yeah. Mary resented me, and I can’t say I blame her.” He smoothes his palms down Robert’s stomach, fingers catching in the dark hair around his navel. Robert suppresses a shiver. “The more kids we had, the more cemented in her role she became. I should have,” he pauses, hangs his head. “I should have worked harder to make sure she was happy. She only had a year of school left. She could have finished. I could have-”

Robert shushes him, none too gently. “Ain’t no use gettin’ worked up over it now. You were doin’ your best, providing for your family, yeah?” Joseph nods jerkily, and Robert nods back. “Water under the bridge at this point, Joe.” Joseph nods again, though he seems less than convinced.

“So’s your dad still callin’ shots here? That why you and Mary are still together?” Robert can't help but ask.

Joseph looks down, away. “He died a few years ago. Both of my parents are gone, actually.”

 _Ah._ That answers the lingering question of how Joseph is able to afford the big house, big family, big boat on a youth minister’s salary. He always did seem like a trust fund kid. “Mine, too,” Robert says quietly, not sure how sorry he should feel. Joseph gives him a hint of a smile.

“That's because you're a million years old.” He laughs when Robert pinches him. “Besides, it's probably for the best. My dad would be pissed that I've never become a head minister. But anyway, by the time Crish came along, we were effectively done with the...physical side of our relationship.” He laughs again, that same awful, humorless laugh. “Crish was honestly a shock to both of us. We had sex less than once a year at that point.”

“That girl’s out of her mind, all this in her bed and not taking advantage of it.” Robert reaches down to squeeze Joseph’s ass for emphasis, and Joseph’s laugh changes then. Robert cracks a smile at the sound. Joseph swings a leg over Robert’s hips, smiling back at him. He sits back on his heels, that perfect ass situated firmly over Robert’s crotch. The innocence of his smile contrasts horribly with the way he grinds down, all too briefly.

“Have we satisfied the ‘serious conversation’ portion of our evening?” Joseph asks, gleam in his baby blues. Robert runs both hands up his thighs, pretending to consider it.

“You know, we could have had this conversation months ago, that first night, if you’d been more of a lady and less of a slut,” he muses, laughing when Joseph squawks indignantly.

“Me?!” Joseph sputters, poking an aristocratic finger into Robert’s chest. “Who’s the one naked in my bed right now?”

Robert shrugs, the movement small under Joseph’s weight. “I’ve got the reputation. It’s you who better is expected of.”

Joseph shifts like he’s going to get up, poorly concealing a grin. “I do like to live up to my expectations…” he trails off. Robert catches him around the middle, flattening him to his front.

“I like you slutty,” he promises, low and dirty in Joseph’s ear. “Just for me.”

Joseph shudders out a breath, turning to press his lips to the corner of Robert’s mouth. “Yeah,” he agrees, still not letting Robert deepen the kiss. “And you, too, right?”

It takes Robert a minute to catch his meaning, but it hits him like a freight train when he does. He really has handed in his slut card since they started this, but the fact that Joseph wants to hear it, the note of possessiveness in his voice, leaves Robert a little breathless. He knows he shouldn’t take it to heart, that there will never be anything exclusive about them so long as Joseph is still married, but it feels too goddamn good to deny in the moment. “Yeah, baby, I’m all yours.”

Joseph kisses him, aim true this time, wasting no time before slipping his tongue in Robert’s mouth. He’s fired up now, and Robert lies back, lets him be in control. Joseph’s hands are in his hair, tugging hard enough to pull a groan from Robert, lost to the deepness of the kiss. Joseph hears it anyway, and he yanks a little in response. “Sounding a little slutty there yourself, Rob,” he draws back to say, lips still brushing Robert’s. Robert moans again, loud and factitious. Joseph grins, but there’s an edge to it Robert knows all too well. “You’re still too put together if you can find it in you to mock me,” Joseph scolds, teasingly.

“So fuck me up,” Robert dares, living for the way Joseph’s eyes darken. He catches Robert’s wrists in his hands, pinning them above his head. Robert was surprised to discover Joseph has a little bit of a bondage kink, goddamn knot tying books, but he’s too inherently sweet to ever be truly domineering. He can hold Robert down and tie him up with ease, but never without a slight apprehension, a touch of trepidation.

Robert loves him anyway.

 _There it is,_ Robert thinks, the feeling he’s been trying to ignore for months now washing over him as Joseph clambers off the bed, coy smile fixed on his face when he grabs one of the ever-present lengths of rope he leaves lying around. Robert doesn’t think he can be blamed for falling in love with the charming bastard, not when he looks at Robert like he’s some kind of dream come true, angelic and bashful even as his hands tie a complicated looking loop in the middle of the rope. He comes back to sit across Robert’s stomach, holding the line out imploringly.

“Hands together, Rob” he instructs, failing not to sound just a little questioning. “This is a bowline on a bight, so I can loop it around both wrists, but they gotta be close together.”

“Now hang on, you ain’t even naked yet,” Robert grumbles even as he complies, holding both hands out, inner arms pressed together. “I haven’t touched you at all.”

Joseph hums noncommittally, leaning up to secure the rope to the headboard in some undoubtedly more-complicated-than-strictly-necessary knot. He’s damnably cute, and Robert loves him. He climbs back off the bed, teasing Robert as he strips down to nothing. “You should have thought of that before you insisted on playing Dr. Phil.”

“I’ll grow the mustache, you better watch it,” Robert warns, stern look melting into a grudging smile when Joseph laughs, head thrown back and impossibly gorgeous. He sits back in Robert’s lap, reaching out to stroke a finger over his upper lip, rough with stubble but nowhere near a full-blown chevron.

“You’d still be beautiful.” His voice is serious, but his eyes are shining with merriment.

Robert bites his finger, earning another laugh. “If I had my hands right now, I’d stuff one of your precious ropes in your mouth, just to shut you up.”

Joseph winks at him, too pleased with himself for Robert’s liking. “Next time,” he promises, scooting back to sit on Robert’s knees, out of biting range, what with Robert’s being attached to the headboard and all. Joseph runs his hands up Robert’s thighs, drawing nonsense patterns in his dark hair, coming to rest with his fingers spanning Robert’s hips. “How do you want to do this?” he asks, eyes on Robert’s half-hard cock.

Robert huffs a laugh. “Kinda up to you, isn’t it?” He pulls against his bonds for emphasis. Joseph tuts, leaning down to kiss Robert’s navel, chin brushing past Robert’s dick accidentally-on-purpose. It twitches, a little, mostly involuntarily. Joseph smirks.

“Seems like you might have a preference, no?” he asks innocently. Robert hates him and his smug face. Still, he knows enough about Joseph by now to know that sometimes, you just have to play along.

“You make a pretty picture right where you are, if your mouth was about three inches to the left.”

Joseph tilts his head, tracing his tongue over Robert’s right hip bone. “Here?”

Robert groans, half from arousal and half from exasperation. “ _My_ left,” he clarifies, gritting his teeth.

“Oh,” Joseph says, feigning surprise, “I guess you should have been clearer.”

Robert starts to growl something back, but Joseph chooses that moment to flatten his tongue against the head of Robert’s cock, and he loses the words. Probably for the best. It would have been something inane like ‘I’ll show you clearer’ and Robert really doesn’t need to embarrass himself like that in front of the man sucking his dick. His arms jerk ineffectually, forgetting his bonds for a moment with the desire to get his hands in Joseph’s hair. They don’t give an inch. Joseph can tie a damn good knot.

He also sucks cock like a goddamn champ. Robert can’t believe he ever thinks of him as innocent.

“Joe,” he moans, tongue pressing to the back of his teeth when Joseph hums again, questioning. “Baby, you’re so fucking good at this.” Joseph makes a pleased noise, and Robert digs his heels into the mattress.

Joseph, for all he radiated exhaustion when he first came in, puts his all into this performance. Robert knows he has a tricky gag reflex, but he works around it like a pro, using his hand to cover what he can’t reach with his mouth. His tongue is as wicked with this as it is sweet with words, swirling at the head and teasing groans from Robert with every pass over the glans. Robert has been keyed up all night, thinking about him, and Joseph’s skilled mouth is bringing him quickly to the edge.

Like he can read his thoughts, Joseph pulls up with a gasp, long strand of saliva connecting his bottom lip with Robert’s shaft. Robert wants his hands again, if only to cover his eyes. “You close?” Joseph asks, voice ragged but nowhere near where Robert knows it can get.

“What do you think, you demon?” Robert answers, breathing erratic, his pulse a mess. Jesus, he’s embarrassing himself anyway, with how gone he is for this kid.

Joseph laughs. “Old man stamina rears its ugly head, huh?” he teases, blowing a breath across Robert’s cock just to watch it twitch again.

“You should take it as a compliment,” Robert says, doing his level best not to thrust up against Joseph’s smiling mouth. He has some self control. “You’re just that good, honey.”

Joseph’s eyes crinkle, fine lines more endearing than they have a right to be. “I don’t even care if that’s sarcasm,” he says, kissing the side of Robert’s dick reverently. “You deserve a reward.” He swallows Robert back down, letting the head bump the back of his throat immediately.

“Not sarcasm,” Robert grunts, twisting his wrists against the rope, trying to cause some pain to keep him grounded. Joseph takes his hands away from Robert’s cock, fitting them under Robert’s ass, encouraging the upward movement of his hips. Robert groans disbelievingly, looking down at him just as Joseph looks up. “You sure, baby?” Robert checks, and gets a wink in reply. It’s enough.

Joseph opens his mouth wider, mostly ceasing any kind of independent movement, just letting Robert thrust into the cavity of his throat. Robert can feel it working around him, and he worries briefly if it’s too much, but he’s close enough that it doesn’t matter. Joseph swallows, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, and the picture of him knelt between Robert’s legs, combined with the knowledge that he tied Robert up only to put himself completely at his mercy has Robert stiffening in pleasure just moments later. He tries to warn Joseph away, gasping his name, pressing his heels into his sides, but Joseph just opens wider so that Robert can see the come striping his tongue when his orgasm hits. He tips his head back, calling out nonsense to the ceiling, shoulders straining at the ropes as his back arches.

Touch is the first sense Robert regains, registering the smear of Joseph’s mouth against his thighs, hip, ribs until he works his way to Robert’s mouth. Sight comes back next, and it’s a good thing, because Robert wouldn’t want to miss Joseph’s blown pupils, the sheen of spit and come on his lips, the flush on his cheeks. He kisses Robert, letting Robert seek the taste of himself on his tongue, and Robert honestly isn’t sure where he prefers Joseph’s mouth; on his lips or on his cock.

“You’re so fucking hot, all trussed up for me,” Joseph whispers into the kiss, voice shot to hell, over enunciating the curse, and Robert shudders.

“Don’t do that to me,” he whines, biting Joseph in retaliation. “I _just_ came.”

Joseph trails kisses across his jaw, whispering any combination of swears he can come up with in his ear while Robert protests half-heartedly. He turns his head, catching Joseph’s mouth again. Joseph presses in closer, his own cock dragging up the outside of Robert’s thigh, uncomfortably hard. “Spring me so I can help you out with that,” Robert says, bending his knee to grind it into Joseph’s erection. Joseph rides his leg shamelessly for a minute, burying his face under Robert’s upraised arm, breath quickening. Robert allows it, kissing the crown of his head. After a while though, listening to Joseph’s little gasps and moans, he’s really starting to resent not being able to touch him. “Joseph,” he presses, trying to shift away. Joseph grumbles, hooking an arm around Robert’s waist to pull him back.

“I’m close,” he rasps, biting the sensitive skin above Robert’s armpit. “Just… let me…” He scoots closer now, one leg between Robert’s, cock fitting snugly in the hollow of Robert’s hip. Robert lifts his hips to meet Joseph’s increasingly desperate thrusts, almost punishingly hard against his stomach.

Robert turns his head again, mouth pressed to Joseph’s ear. “Come on, then,” he tells him, caught up in the roll of Joseph’s hips, the lingering high from his own release. “Give it to me, Joe.”

“Robbie,” Joseph gasps, movements losing all finesse. He’s all instinct now, and Robert doesn’t even get a chance to scold him for that ridiculous name he calls him during sex before Joseph’s coming, low groan punched out of him. There’s a burst a warmth against Robert’s stomach that cools uncomfortably quickly as Joseph spreads it around with his finishing thrusts, but Joseph let Robert come down his throat, so he’s definitely not going to complain.

Joseph goes still against him, weight pressing Robert into the mattress as all his muscles give out seemingly at once. He’s panting, a little, nothing like the huffing and puffing Robert’s prone to, but flattering all the same. Joseph is younger. And fitter. And probably doesn’t smoke two packs a day. Speaking of…

“Joseph,” Robert prompts after a bit longer. Joseph licks him, a little, which Robert supposes counts as a response. “Baby, you gotta let me free. I’m dying for a smoke.”

Joseph makes a disapproving noise, finally lifting his head. “If you’re going to get out of this bed, then I’m not going to untie you.” His throat sounds scraped raw, graveled and sexy, but Robert feels a twinge of guilt over the rough treatment.

“If you’d let me smoke in bed…” Robert wheedles, giving Joseph his best puppy dog eyes. Joseph seems unfazed.

“Smoking will kill you.” It’s an argument they’ve been having for years, long before they’d taken up together. Robert lets out a groan, closing his eyes and wondering why he’s so obsessed with this dweeb. “I should leave you tied up until we’ve broken you of your little habit,” Joseph continues, fingers testing the soundness of his knots. Robert tries to catch them with his own, but Joseph is too quick.

“I’d rather die of the inevitable lung cancer,” Robert says flatly. He works his hands against the ropes again, growing less amused now that the lust of the moment has passed. “Joe, come on, let me go.” He tries to convey his seriousness, but it’s hard to conjure up his trademark glare where Joseph is concerned nowadays. Love makes a man soft like that, he guesses.

Thankfully, Joseph is done teasing. He releases Robert’s hands in one seamless move, and damn if that never fails to be hot. “It’s not just lung cancer, you know. There’s heart failure, emphysema, impoten-”

Robert uses his newly liberated hands to drag Joseph into a kiss, and he gives up trying to continue his lecture when Robert bites his tongue. They hold each other, Joseph’s hands pressed to Robert’s chest, Robert’s hands in his hair, still caught up in that post-orgasm haze. Robert could spend all night kissing him, he could, except that pack he chainsmoked on his back porch feels like a lifetime ago, and he’s ready to crawl out of his skin with craving. “I’ll be back,” he vows, breaking away from Joseph slowly. Robert swings his legs out of the bed, only to have Joseph wrap both arms around his neck from behind, clinging. He puts his mouth right to Robert’s ear, whisper of breath raising the hair on his arms.

“Just this once, I mean it.”

Robert grins, pleased. “That’s what they all say.”

Joseph sits back with a huff, watching Robert lean over for the jacket he dropped at the edge of the bed earlier, cigarettes and lighter in hand in no time. The first drag is like coming up for air after a lap underwater. Robert settles in next to Joseph again, taking care the blow the smoke away from his lover. He doesn’t want Joseph changing his mind.

“You make that look so good.” Joseph looks on from his place nestled back in the pillows, eyes on Robert’s hands as he brings the smoke to his mouth again.

“I can make anything look good, it’s true,” Robert boasts, locking both hands behind his head in a showy stretch, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. Joseph pokes him in the ribs, hard, causing him to jump, lit cigarette falling into his lap. “Jesus fuck, Joseph!” Robert yelps, scrambling to scoop it up. If there’s one place you don’t want to drop your goddamn cigarette, it’s on your naked dick.

Joseph, the bastard, just laughs. Robert assesses the damage, relieved that all he’s managed to do is get ash in Joseph’s pristine sheets. Serves him right. Taking a long drag, Robert leans over to seal his lips over Joseph’s laughing mouth, shotgunning the smoke in retribution.

“All right, all right,” Joseph coughs, putting a hand over Robert’s mouth. “Truce!”

Robert smokes three cigarettes down to the filter, Joseph watching him the entire time. Once he’s stubbed the last one out, he reaches for Joseph, pulling him to his chest. “Hey, baby?”

Joseph makes a questioning sound, halfway to sleep. Robert rubs a hand up his back, cupping his neck.

“I’m glad you showed up.” Robert isn’t good with mushy words or heartfelt confessions, but sometimes he feels the need to let Joseph know how much he wants him around. It’s not just the sex, which is amazing. It’s this, too, quiet moments where they can be just be together. It scares him, a little, how much he’s come to rely on the other man. He knows Joseph isn’t his, and what they’re doing could blow up in his face at any point, but that only makes him covet these times all the more. Robert doesn’t know if Joseph feels the same, but he can hazard a guess, especially when he leans up to press a lingering kiss to Robert’s nicotine-flavored lips.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

 

-x-

 

The next morning, Robert is awake with the sun. Because it’s fucking blinding, shining through the huge, curtainless windows above the bed. He groans, trying to turn over, block it out any way he can, but a weight on his stomach stalls his movement. Joseph has migrated down the bed, face pressed into Robert’s hip, blanket pulled over his head to keep out the rays of death. Robert reaches down to pinch him, pissed that he’s been left alone to suffer.

“Ow?” comes Joseph’s tired voice, muffled against Robert’s skin.

“Oh I’m sorry, are you uncomfortable?” Robert grouses, pinching him again. Joseph pops his head out, squinting immediately against the killer glare. Robert makes an ‘Welcome to my world’ face, but brings a hand up to shield Joseph’s tired eyes. “Get some fucking curtains for your sex boat, Joseph.”

“What’s the point of being out on the water if you can’t see it, Robert?” Joseph slides up, tucking his face against Robert’s neck. He doesn’t protest the sex boat thing, which inexplicably makes Robert smile.

“We’re not out on the water,” Robert replies, tracing his fingers between Joseph’s shoulderblades. “We’re docked. And awake. Because the goddamn sun has a personal vendetta against me.”

Joseph snorts. “We could put to sea. Head west,” he adds, enticingly. Robert wants to, he really does; spending an entire day with Joseph is unheard of after having him the whole night too, but there’s just one problem.

“It’s Sunday, Joe.”

“Mhmm,” Joseph agrees. Robert waits. A beat. Two. Then- “Shit!” Joseph gasps, throwing the blanket back, feet hitting the floor before his head has left Robert’s shoulder.

“Joseph!” Robert feigns outrage, stretching luxuriously as he watches Joseph stumble around the cabin, gathering his discarded clothes. “Is that any way to speak on this, the day of our Lord?”

Joseph flips him off, distracted with extricating a sock from underneath the armchair, and Robert laughs. “Come back, baby, it’s like 6:30. You got hours yet.”

“No, I have to get home. My robes are there. And I need a shower. And I never did finish my Sunday school lesson yesterday.” He pauses in his mad dash when Robert slips out of bed to take him in his arms, tipping his head up expectantly. “Robert…” Joseph complains, brushing their lips together in a chaste kiss anyway. “I have to go,” he whispers, regretfully, even as he lets Robert curl his fingers around his ears, turning him into another kiss. There’s something to be said about their affection for one another when not even morning breath can deter Robert from coaxing Joseph’s mouth open, seeking a deeper kiss.

They kiss lazily for a while, early morning sun lighting Joseph up like a goddamn angel. He glows, golden, radiant, his mess of blonde locks the halo that completes the look. Robert loves him. He presses up into Joseph’s mouth rather than let the damning words slip, but he feels them in every cell of his aging body. He’s an idiot, he knows, but there's no denying the heart. Joseph is so young, so unfulfilled, that Robert can't help but feel like he could be anyone, that Joseph is just acting out with the first person who was willing to go along with him, but it's different for Robert. Joseph could never be just anyone. Robert’s had anyone. Robert’s had everyone, never letting a ring or a gender stand in the way of a good time, but that's not what this is. God help him, that's not what this is.

“I have to go, Rob,” Joseph insists finally, swiping a thumb against Robert’s kiss-swollen lower lip. He looks like he'd rather do anything but, and Robert smiles.

“Nobody’s stoppin’ ya.”

Joseph groans, bumping their foreheads together. “Sometimes I think you're the devil himself, sent here to tempt me away from all my responsibilities.”

_How am I doin’?_

Robert shoves him away lightly, fingers lingering over the dark ink on his shoulder. “Go on, then. I’m gonna take off, too.”

Joseph gives him a hopeful look as he tugs a shirt over his head. Not the one he was wearing last night. He must've given up trying to find it. “You wanna come to services today?”

Robert barely contains a bark of laughter. The only reason he'd ever gone to a couple services a year was to ogle the hot youth minister. Now that he's pretty much free to do that whenever he pleases, church has lost all appeal again. Though it is kinda nice to hear Joseph’s booming, authoritative voice in its proper context. Robert shakes his head. Not worth the hours of preachy bullshit. “Nah, not today.” He ignores the way Joseph wilts, reaching out to help him with the button of his khakis. “I’m gonna head home. Sleep. Shower,” he adds pointedly, scratching at the flaky mess of Joseph’s come on his stomach. Joseph grins, unrepentant.

“‘Kay, I'll see you later then?” He says it like a question, but the answer only ever lies with him. Robert would have him around 24/7, if possible.

“Whatever you want, baby,” Robert replies, leaning in for one last kiss. Joseph cups his cheek, gentle, pecking him on the nose when Robert goes to pull away.

“Bye!”

And with that, Joseph’s far-too-spunky, far-too-pert ass climbs above deck. Robert watches the place he disappeared for a moment, absently pulling on clothes. He knows he could hang out here, crawl back under the covers that perpetually smell of Joseph and sleep the day away, that Joseph wouldn't mind. But the sun is still doing its best to set the cabin on fire, and Robert really doesn't relish trying to slink his way off deck on a weekend afternoon, when the dock is sure to be full of overactive kids and hassled parents. It's better for everyone if he just goes home now.

The pier is still when Robert emerges, blinking and scowling furiously, into the morning sun. He stumbles ashore with all the grace afforded to him by middle-age and the slight beginnings of a hangover. It's too warm for his jacket, the gossamer autumn they’re having driving temperatures up, but he can't be assed to shrug it off at this point. He snags his cigarettes from the pocket, lighting up as he stands next to the hood of his truck, only getting in after he's taken several long pulls.

The drive home is uneventful, no one in their right mind on the roads this early. Robert is entirely too familiar with the morning-after crawl home down deserted streets, though rarely do they feel as good as this one. His mind wanders a little as he waits at a light, running back over his night with Joseph, feeling a faint tug of arousal at the thought of his hot, wet mouth and nimble fingers. He's too good to be true, really, and even as he daydreams, Robert is painfully aware of the catalyst to Joseph’s sojourn with him last night.

Robert knows things are bad between Joseph and Mary. Everyone knows, in that way that never gets brought up but many conversations allude to. Their interactions are stilted at best, hostile at worst; Mary treats Joseph like a nuisance, and Joseph treats her like his fifth, and worst behaved, child. Robert has never really pressed either of them about their long-term plans. He knows as well as anyone how long you can sustain an unsustainable marriage. The thought twists in his gut, dark like jealousy. He has no right to be jealous, he knows. Joseph doesn’t belong to him. And yet…

Robert pulls into his driveway at last, offering a half-hearted wave to Craig, who, at 7a.m., looks like he’s just getting _back_ from a run. Jesus Christ, that guy is something else. He yells something over to Robert about it being a beautiful day, or some other morning-person bullshit. Robert just waves again, hurrying in to his blackout curtains and hearty breakfast of whiskey and cigarettes before Craig can offer him egg white omelets and whole grain toast. The guy’s heart is in the right place, but Joseph’s level of enthusiasm is about as much as Robert can take, and Craig has him beat by at least a motivational speaker and a half.

Robert spends the rest of the day in bed, remembering to turn his phone on moments before he passes out, in case Joseph has some free time on his hands. It’s a long shot; Sundays are filled with services and lunches and softball games, nothing that particularly appeals to Robert’s interests. Maybe if they held a screening of Bouzereau’s latest film, but that’s not exactly kid-friendly.

It’s dark when next he wakes, the perfect contrast to this morning’s unpleasantness. Robert drags himself to the shower, something he neglected earlier. He’s glad Joseph isn’t here at this particular moment. When you can smell yourself, you’re about ten hours past ripe. Robert doesn’t linger in the shower, never really one for ritualistic indulgences. He prefers to get his kicks at the bar. Or in bed.

Scrutinizing himself in the mirror is never his best idea, but the lack of towels in the bathroom leaves him to drip-dry on the rug in front of the vanity, so he doesn’t really have a choice. Robert tries not to notice the new grey hairs or more prominent wrinkles, but it’s kinda hard when they’re staring him literally in the face. The bags under his eyes ain’t something to write home about, but he’s looked better. He’s been eating a little better lately, because Joseph uses his key to break in and fill Robert’s fridge with lasagnas and casseroles and brownies, and the guy is a damn good cook. It’d be a shame to let them go to waste. Still, Robert’s main food group is malted barley, and it shows in his prominent ribs and visible breastbone. The scar does nothing to distract from the gaunt space between his pecs. Robert thinks to Joseph’s chest, firm with muscle, almost as full as a small pair of tits, and makes a sound of disgusted amusement.

_That’s what you get for takin’ up with a youngen._

He’s landed every lay he’s ever had with this body, so it must work for him, even if it’s growing older before his very eyes. Robert avoids the mirror for the rest of his time in the bathroom, and doesn’t even glance at the one above the dresser when he’s scrounging for clothes. He’s seen enough for today.

The hour ticks closer to his usual bartime as Robert putters around his house, catching snatches of some ghost hunting show in between his trips to the kitchen to refill his glass. He’s itching for the atmosphere of Jim and Kim’s, but Robert doesn’t know if he can quite bring himself to face Mary tonight. She’s a swell gal, and a better drinking buddy, matching him shot for shot until Neil has to cut them off, but the lingering guilt over the problems he’s causing for her and Joseph makes him hesitant to get drunk in her presence. Who knows what might come spilling out. Mary is the best gossip in town. She can get anyone to tell her anything, and there are a few things he’d like to keep to himself, if it’s all the same.

The emptiness of his last bottle of Jameson makes Robert’s decision for him. He grabs his jacket but leaves his truck, having no intention of being sober enough to drive home tonight, and he doesn’t need Joseph spotting the Chevy in the bar’s parking lot tomorrow morning and lecturing him on it. Robert hasn’t heard from Joseph all night, so he thinks it’s safe to assume heirs Christiansen are back home and demanding all of their dad’s attention.

The walk is short and the night is pleasant, so Robert takes his time, peering into the graveyard on his way by but deeming it too quiet to warrant investigation. He might have felt differently if Joseph were with him. Hunting’s always more fun with a buddy.

And Damien isn’t entirely wrong about the charm of a moonlit cemetery.

If there’s one place Robert can count on to never muddle him up with romanticism, it’s Neil’s place. The atmosphere is nonexistent, kinda like patrons tonight. Robert is the only one at the bar when he pulls up a stool, and Neil pours him a tumbler immediately.

“Slow night?” Robert asks, about as much small talk as he’s inclined to participate in.

Neil shrugs, moving off to continue filling salt shakers. “Thought I wasn’t even gonna be able to count on my best customers tonight. Where’s that girl of yours, anyway?”

“Not my girl,” Robert mumbles, gesturing for a refill. Neil just laughs, sliding the bottle down the bar into Robert’s waiting hand. Robert turns his attention to the game carrying on quietly on the corner television, background noise of Neil fussing around enough to lull him into a relaxed, carefree state.

“Look at that headstart, sailor. Trying to forget someone?”

Robert tries and fails to hide his violent start when a hand settles on his arm, flushing slightly when Mary laughs. He pulls out her stool for her, staunchly ignoring her teasing. She settles in close, leaning around him to snag the bottle of whiskey as Neil sets a glass down in front of her without being prompted.

“Missed you last night. Where’ve you been?” Mary asks, after several beats of silence from Robert. He grunts, snatching the bottle back from her. There isn’t enough whiskey in the world for this. He takes another shot anyway.

Mary catches his hand as he lowers it, fingers pressing into the lines of the tattoo, so similar but so different from the way Joseph touches him. There’s no reverence in Mary’s touch, just quiet inquisition. Despite the empty glass in his hand, Robert’s mouth is suddenly bone dry.

“I’m not an idiot, Robert.” Her voice is low, aware of Neil’s presence at the other end of the bar.

Robert closes his eyes briefly, praying for the floor to open up and swallow him on the spot, hopeful that his association with Joseph has afforded him some favor with Joseph’s god.

_I think your kind of ‘associating’ earns you the opposite._

“Don’t remember ever saying you were,” Robert answers, finally, the first words he’s said to her yet. He pulls his hand from her grasp, tucking both arms over his chest and effectively shielding the tattoo from her keen gaze.

Mary considers him for a moment, like she isn’t sure she should say what she’s about to. Robert knows she will anyway. Mary doesn’t second-guess herself often. He focuses on a spot behind the bar, steadfastly avoiding her eyes.

“Do you know Esther Goodwin?”

Robert blinks. Not exactly what he expected to come out of her mouth. “Should I?”

Mary shrugs delicately, pouring herself another shot from Robert’s bottle. “She’s a member of our congregation. Apparently, she recognized you when she saw you coming off Joseph’s boat this morning, minutes after Joseph himself, so I thought maybe you were acquainted.” Her voice is so measured, deceptively detached.

Meanwhile, Robert’s pretty sure he swallowed his tongue. He gapes at the bar top for too long, trying to form a reply, an excuse, an apology, a coronary embolism, something. “Told you that, did she?” he manages, choked and so uncasual. He’s usually so much better at this.

Mary shakes her head. “Oh, no, she’d never come directly to me with something like that. It wouldn’t be proper,” she scolds mildly, still unaware of Robert’s slow death beside her. “She told Joyce Clayton, who told Jeannie Chambers, who told Alana Randall to tell me.” She winks at him conspiratorially. “Prayer chain, you know.”

Robert’s heart pounds in his ears as he forces himself to take several even breaths. Fucking Joseph and his goddamn sex boat. Why couldn’t he have a sex cabin in the woods, far away from the meddlesome eyes of every old Methodist bitty in town. He lets Mary pour him another drink, drinking it as slowly as he can, but she just waits patiently for a response.

Realistically, Robert isn’t sure how devastating of a situation this is. According to Joseph, Mary already knows about the affair. The news couldn’t have come as a shock to her. The problem lies with Joseph’s congregation. There’s nothing gossipier than a small-town church. Right now, ol’ Esther is probably basking in the glory of unearthing the juiciest scandal they’ll sink their teeth into all year, possibly ever. How could you ever top the youth minister screwing the local drunk? This is gonna kill Joseph.

Speaking of…

Robert tips his head back, giving up any pretense of ignorance. “Does Joseph know?" He can feel the moment the jig is up between them. Mary almost seems relieved.

She shrugs again. "Things usually take longer to reach him, mostly because he 'refuses to entertain gossip’." She uses air quotes, rolling her eyes. “But primo stuff like that doesn't miss anybody. It’ll get around eventually.”

"When he finds out, will he know that you know?"

Mary narrows her eyes. "I assume he’ll realize that if it reached him, it reached me." There’s a catch in her voice now, and Robert finally realizes how shook up she is.

Robert hangs his head. He’s so worried about Joseph and how he’ll react, he hasn’t even spared a thought for the fact that Mary’s church, the center of her and Joseph’s world for so long, has finally been clued into her private hell. He wants to smack himself. "Mary...I'm so-"

"Don't." Mary cuts him off, sharply. "Don't you say you're sorry."

Robert turns to face her, bewildered. "Why not?"

"Are you?"

He pauses, considers. "I'm sorry for hurting you."

Mary waves it off, irritated. "Are you sorry for being in love with my husband?"

It’s like a knife, it really is, and Robert knows knives. He blows out a slow breath, teeth gritted against the sharp, stabbing pain somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. “Who said anything about being in love with him?”

Mary fixes him with an incredulous look. “Robert, please. You’ve been in love with him for a lot longer than you’ve been fucking him.” She points to her eye, insistently. “I may be wearing wine goggles most of the time, but I’m not blind.” She brushes a hand down Robert’s arm, forcing him to look at her. “My husband might be,” she whispers, almost sounding apologetic herself, “but I’m not.” Her eyes shine in a way separate from the effects of drink, and Robert almost pulls her into a hug. She’s got it worse than he and Joseph combined. At least they have each other.

_For now._

Robert bites the inside of his cheek, suddenly embarrassingly close to tears himself. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees, letting Mary’s hand fall away as he sits back to gather himself. “I don't think I can ever be sorry for that."

Mary’s laugh is watery, and in that moment, Robert loves her, too. She and Joseph both deserve so much better. Robert hands her another shot, having poured one for both of them. Mary salutes him with it, and they pound it back at the same time, a queer sort of solidarity. Wife and mistress.

“He doesn't like this, you know," Mary says, gesturing vaguely between them.

"What, the drinking?” Robert laughs, a little too fondly. “I know. He never really stops lecturing me about it."

Mary shakes her head. “No...well, yes, the drinking, but I meant you and me. He doesn't like our hanging out together."

Robert does know. He’s never come right out and said it, but Robert can tell Joseph disapproves of their friendship. He’s seen it in his eyes when Robert walks Mary home, the rebuke that sits on his tongue. He feels it in the way Joseph stiffens whenever Robert mentions Mary’s name, or vice versa. Robert doesn’t know if it’s a concern for their well-being, since he and Mary truly are terrible influences on each other, but he has a feeling that it’s more about Joseph’s own guilt over their situation. His life with Mary is separate from his thing with Robert, and he doesn’t like the reminder that those two worlds sometimes intersect.

But Robert needs someone like Mary, maybe now more than ever. He shrugs it off. "We don't really get to choose who people hang around, do we?"

Mary snorts, a little. She raises her empty glass, a fitting salute to the absurdity of their circumstances. "Hear, hear!"

They drink in companionable silence for a while, slower now that Robert isn’t trying to drown himself via whiskey. It’s ironic, really, that he feels better now than he did when he first walked in. Objectively, things are much worse. He doesn’t know how, but he does know that things are about to change irreparably for their lopsided little love triangle. But just having this shit out in the open lifts a weight he’d almost forgotten he was carrying. He spares a sympathetic thought for Joseph, who has some monumental decisions to make in the coming days. Robert can only hope things turn out in his favor.

Mary breaks the hush first, watching him carefully out of the corner of her eye. "Soooo, what are you gonna do now?" She waits, letting Robert mull it over like she’d asked for the key to a happy life. Maybe she has.

"I don't know, what are you gonna do?" Robert replies finally, words flippant but tone serious. He knows what she’s asking. Where do they go from here? The brief respite from his earlier freakout is effectively over, and Robert misses it fiercely. What the hell _is_ he gonna do? He isn’t ready to lose Joseph, doesn’t know if he ever will be, and that scares the shit out of him.

Mary has gone quiet again, contemplative in a way she usually isn't. It's Robert's turn to wait. Eventually, she sighs, and Robert braces himself for the answer. She really holds all the cards in this situation. Robert knows she can make this as easy or as difficult as she wants, that Joseph will never really go against her for fear of losing his kids. The fate of his and Robert’s future rests in her perfectly manicured hands.

"I...asked you first."

Robert gives a short laugh, fingers loosing the shattering grip they had on his glass. He sobers quickly enough, terrified to consider his next step. He didn't know there was a next step, or that there ever would be. But now he's staring in the face of a complete shift in the dynamic of his and Joseph's relationship, and he's scared stiff. Mary lets him freak out, calmly sipping at her whiskey.

"I don't know," Robert says again. "I guess I gotta talk to Joe." Mary flinches slightly, away from the sound of the nickname, something Robert knows only he uses. He regrets it immediately. "Unless you wanna go first?" _Please God, let her go first._ Fallout Robert can deal with. He’s got an endless supply of sex and alcohol. It’s the after he’s good with, not the before.

Mary starts shaking her head before he even finishes the question. "I'll have my answer when he gives you his."

Robert blows out a long breath, spinning his glass slowly in front of him. "I guess I should do it soon, huh? He is gonna freak out if people start talking about this." Robert is not unaware of the peculiarity of the moment, asking advice from Joseph’s wife on how best to approach him about the fact that their affair is now basically public knowledge. Thank god Mary is who she is.

"When," Mary corrects, assuredly. "When people start talking about it. They're definitely going to talk about it. This is the biggest drama this town has ever seen. It's only a matter of time."

“I’m sorry in advance,” Robert tells her seriously, “for whatever people are going to say about you. I’m sorry for the role I played in hurting you and-”

“Enough,” Mary cuts him off again, and Robert swallows the rest of his apologies with a mouthful of whiskey. “You know me as well as anyone, Rob.” She offers him a wry smile. “I haven’t exactly been faithful to Joseph, either. It’s not like I’m sitting at home, crying because my beloved husband is out plowing the neighbor while I’m stuck with the kids.” Her sigh sounds like it comes from the soles of her feet, years of weariness being released. “Religion is a powerful help for some people, but goddamn if it isn’t just as powerful a trap for others.”

Robert tips his glass to her. “Hear, hear.”

Mary smiles at him. It almost reaches her eyes this time. “You make him happy, you know?”

Robert shoots her a look. “Mary…”

“We don’t have to talk about your boyfriend if it embarrasses you,” she teases, but settles quickly. “I mean it, though. Whatever happens from here, you should know that this is the happiest I’ve seen him in years.” She laughs again, softly. “And maybe it’s fucked up, considering we’re married with four kids, but I kinda want him to stay happy.” Robert’s breath catches at the steely look in her eye when she raises her head. “I might be pulling for him to choose you.”

Robert can’t speak, emotion clogging his throat, so he reaches for her. Mary clings to the back of his jacket, face pressed to his neck. If there’s a hint of wetness, he doesn’t mention it.

“Not to be an insensitive dick,” he manages at last, speaking into her sweet-smelling hair, “but I kinda am, too.”

Mary pokes him in the ribs, right where Joseph had last night, and for a moment Robert aches for who the two of them must have been, before time and regret pushed them apart. Whatever they are now, Robert is grateful for what they were. He knows they’ve shaped each other, for better or worse, into the two people he loves today.

But he sincerely hopes, with no small amount of guilt, that that chapter in their lives is over. Because after tonight, he can finally acknowledge that he’s ready for Joseph to start a new one. With him.

 

-x-

 

Of course, once Robert has decided to make his move, the universe conceives of every possible way to make sure he doesn’t.

Joseph’s voice in his head tells him that the universe can’t actually do anything, that God ordains all things to work together according to His will, and Robert really shouldn’t try to take that credit away from Him. Robert tells him to fuck off.

He’d left the bar after his talk with Mary full of fragile hope, letting the drink and the conversation bolster his confidence in what he and Joseph have. It’d been too late to seek him out then, so Robert had simply walked Mary to her door and kissed her goodnight, making no attempt to slip in behind her and accost her husband. He’d gone home, falling into bed with the beginnings of a persuasive speech scripted in his mind. Joseph may have the silver tongue, but Robert isn’t without his own wiles.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to muster them the next morning on the phone, when he was called out of town on an emergency job. Far out of town. Across the country out of town. He’d have said no, really, if it weren’t for the obscene amount of money he’d been offered as compensation for such short notice. A man has to keep himself in fine liquor.

So Robert had left, tenuous faith in Joseph’s staunch disapproval of gossip his only hope that the other man would stay out of the loop until he returned. So far, so good, because Robert hasn’t received any frantic phone calls or cryptic texts from Joseph in the three days he’s been gone. He’d been in touch, sure, but mostly to detail the ways he missed Robert and the things he had planned upon his return. Robert had saved those texts.

Now, there’s only a five-hour flight standing between him and the rest of his life, and he’d be nervous if he weren’t so damn tired. The company had sprung for a suite in a ritzy hotel, obviously trying to assuage any resentment on Robert’s part. It’d had the opposite effect, really. The bed was too soft, the service too servicey, and really, the only reason Robert can think of for a hotel room with that much furniture is if you were planning to have all kinds of sex all over it.

Maybe some day he’ll bring Joseph along on a business trip.

Robert tries to sleep on the plane, knowing he’ll need all his wit about him for the inevitable confrontation with Joseph. He’s drained from three sleepless nights he’ll try to blame on the pillowy mattress in his fancy suite, but he knows it’s because of Joseph. The confidence in their future he’d accumulated that first night has all but gone now, replaced with thoughts of children and churches and Christ. Joseph had spelled it out for him the first time they’d slept together, his fears and convictions, the limits of this new relationship. Robert doesn’t know if anything’s changed in the last few months since they’ve been together. If it has, Joseph has made no indication.

So Robert lands in Massachusetts with trepidation eating a hole in his gut. He texts Joseph the minute he has service again, but he’d taken the redeye, eager to get home as soon as possible, so he knows it’s unlikely that he’ll get a response before morning.

He’d only brought a single carry-on bag, so there’s no need for baggage claim. Robert threads his way through the sparsely populated airport, bleary-eyed travelers hauling crying kids around, fighting with strollers and suitcases at the bottom of the escalator. Robert opts for the stairs up to the long-term garage, taking them two at a time until he’s winded. One of these days, he’s going to have to take Craig up on his offer to “whip you into shape, bro!”

The streets are quiet as he drives toward home, and Robert has to roll the window down and crank the radio to keep himself awake. The weather had turned while he’d been west, and the crisp air raises goosebumps on his arms where he’d pushed the sleeves of his dress shirt back. There hadn’t been time to change between his last meeting and his flight. His nicest slacks are hopelessly wrinkled, blazer crumpled and shoved into his bag. Cold now, Robert pulls it out and shrugs into it, driving with his knees. He considers turning on the heat, but the fresh air whipping through the cab of his truck is impossibly refreshing, and he’s not quite ready to give it up.

The smell of saltwater hits him before he can see the pier lights. With a faint thrill of belonging, Robert sits up straight, watching the lights on the water. He imagines he can see Joseph’s yacht, garish and distinct among the dozens pulled into the harbor, and Robert’s stomach twists with something other than anxiety for the first time in days. Goddamn, but he’s missed Joseph.

The houses of the cul-de-sac are dark as he drives up, save for his own. He’d set the living room lights on a timer, even though there’s really nothing in his house worth stealing. Even if there were, good luck finding it among the wreckage. For a minute, Robert sits in his parked truck, head back against the seat, staring at Joseph’s illuminated front porch. He can’t exactly go ring the bell, but Robert wonders if he could discern which window belongs to the guest room. He’s not above a little rock throwing.

Then he imagines pelting the baby’s room on accident, waking the entire household and drawing way too much attention to himself. It’s probably best if he just goes to bed.

Robert can’t be bothered to grab his bag as he climbs out of his decrepit pickup. If someone wants to snatch his rank dry cleaning, more power to them.

His first sense that something is wrong comes when his key turns far too easily in the already unlocked front door. Robert feels his pulse spike, fatigue fading rapidly to be replaced by adrenaline. Maybe he’d forgotten to lock it in his rush to make his flight, but he doubts it. There’s no knife in his pocket for once, goddamn TSA, but there is one in the desk just inside the door. Robert eases it open, pulling up on the handle to prevent the hinges from squeaking. The hall is dimly lit by the lamp from the next room, revealing a much cleaner floor than the one he’d left behind, and Robert frowns.

_Who the fuck breaks in someone’s house to clean it?_

Knife located and in hand, Robert takes two careful steps towards the living room, trying to peer around the frame of the entry. Whoever’s in there is making an ungodly amount of noise, rustling and bustling and humming. The tune is familiar. It only takes Robert a second to place it, that Jimmy Buffet song. There’s only one person in the whole goddamn neighborhood who listens to Jimmy Buffet. A slow smile crawls its way across Robert’s face. His pulse doesn’t settle but it does shift, heart hammering from excitement rather than alarm.  

Lowering his weapon, Robert steps into the living room. Joseph has his back to the entrance, sorting through the detritus of bills and wrappers and bottles on the coffee table. He’s obviously been at it a while. The floor is...well, visible, freshly-vacuumed and spotless. The cushions of the couch and chair looked fluffed. There’s a candle burning on one of the side tables, which are also cleared of debris. Robert shakes his head, overwhelmed. This asshole. A guy leaves for three days and comes back to a clean house. Is nothing sacred anymore?

Joseph is still oblivious to his company, bobbing his head along to his own tuneless humming. He’s tossing things into a bag of trash at his feet, and Robert wonders if every milestone in their relationship is going to be marked with Joseph hauling around a garbage bag.

Joseph is coming up on the end of his song, starting to whisper the words under his breath. Robert gives him a little help.

“But I know, it’s my own damn fault,” he sings loudly, grinning as Joseph spins around, handful of shredded paper clutched to his chest.

“Good God in heaven, Robert!”

“Back atcha. I thought I was being robbed by Merry Maids.”

“Ha ha,” Joseph says, bending to stuff the paper in with the rest of the garbage. Robert cocks his head, admiring the view. Joseph catches him looking, smile distinctly un-Christian. "What are you doing back? I wasn't expecting you til morning."

"I can see that," Robert drawls, casting a disparaging eye around the room. Joseph doesn't even have the decency to look guilty. "They had a redeye." Robert shrugs, embarrassed. "Had to get back to my man."

Joseph beams, starts to say something else, mouth opening, but it snaps shut again as Robert steps into the light of the room, intending to give him a proper greeting.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asks, drawn up short by the enigmatic look that crosses Joseph’s face.

“You're wearing a suit.” It isn't a question. Robert answers anyway.

“It’s more of a sport coat. No tie,” he clarifies, gesturing to his open collar. Joseph's eyes catch on thatch of chest hair visible beneath the undone top three buttons.

“I didn’t even know you owned a suit,” he says, almost to himself. Then, like an afterthought: “You're…hot.” Again, not a question. Robert just laughs.

Joseph closes the gap to come stand in front of Robert, eyes never leaving Robert’s body. Good thing he cleared the floor. His arms slip under the open jacket, locking around Robert’s waist in a possessive grip. Robert drapes his arms around the taller man’s neck, pulling him in a little.

“Tell me about it, stud.”

Joseph kisses him, forcefully enough that it sends Robert back a step. Joseph hauls him in again, nearly lifting him off his feet in his eagerness. His hands clench in the starched material of Robert’s dress shirt, one at his lower back and one between his shoulders. It’s a dominate hold, giving Robert no room to step away. Not that he’d want to. He’d spend the rest of his life crushed to Joseph’s strong chest, if given the option.

Joseph’s possession of his mouth is just as domineering, kiss deeper than it has any right to be so soon. Robert doesn’t try to push back, get a bit of his own. He lets Joseph take control, such treatment a relief to his tired senses, honestly. Sometimes it’s easier to hang back and let Joseph lead a little.

Joseph’s mouth moves away, marking a path across Robert’s jaw, licking at the relative smoothness he finds there. “You shaved?” The tone carries infinite surprise, drawing a weak chuckle from Robert.

“People tend to take me a little more seriously when I look the part.”

Joseph hums, an endearing habit of his. He slides his hands around to Robert’s front, rucking up his shirt where it’s tucked loosely in his waistband. “This is honestly so hot,” Joseph marvels, leaning back to get another look at Robert. His fingers tease at the buttons of the shirt, but he seems reluctant to disturb the image.

Robert leans in, putting his lips to Joseph’s throat. “If I’d known it turned you on, I’d’ve played dress up every day.”

Joseph moans at that, hands settling firmly at Robert’s hips. His thumbs press in hard enough to hurt, and Robert goes from vaguely interested to gagging for it in less than three seconds. Better pickup than McLaren 570. “Feelin’ your oats tonight, huh?” he definitely doesn’t whine into Joseph’s collarbone.

Joseph kisses him again, all sharp teeth and insistent tongue. Robert tips his head back, opens his mouth, lets himself get a little overwhelmed. He swears he can feel the bruises forming under Joseph’s fingers.

“You abandoned me for three days,” Joseph pulls back to complain, holding Robert in place when he tries to follow. “I hardly knew what to do with myself.”

“Seems like you coulda done some of those things you were texting me about, you menace.” Robert bites his lip to watch the way Joseph’s eyes snap to his mouth. Joseph’s cheeks pink up, but he doesn’t back down.

“There’s nothing stopping us from doing them now,” Joseph points out, kissing him quickly.

It’s on the tip of Robert’s tongue to agree, when he remembers the one thing that _could_ stop them from doing them right now. Joseph evidently hasn’t been let in on the big secret concerning him, judging by his demeanor. Robert is equal parts relieved and distressed that Mary is apparently still waiting for his cue.

The familiar guilt flares up when Joseph slides his hands into Robert’s hair, angling him for another kiss. Robert should really put a stop to this before it goes any farther; he should tell Joseph, get it out of the way. The longer he keeps it to himself, the madder Joseph is going to be when he finally breaks the news. Joseph hates lying, and Robert has a feeling he isn’t inclined to be persuaded that a lie of omission isn’t really a lie.

But then Joseph whispers into the kiss, and all rational thought goes out the window.

“You in this suit is so…I wanna fuck you in it.”

“Yes,” Robert says immediately. He’s breathless at the thought of it, those strong hands at his hips, that broad chest at his back, preferably pressing him over the back of the couch. He fumbles with Joseph’s belt, opening his fly and pulling his trousers open, just enough to make sex possible. He slips a hand into his briefs, the quick squeeze-pull of his cock enough to get Joseph moaning. Robert takes him out of his underwear, hooking the elastic just beneath his balls, comfort the farthest thing from his mind. He just wants Joseph in him, as soon as possible.

Joseph obviously feels the same, hands busy making their own quick work of Robert’s belt. “Here or?” he pants, forehead pressed to Robert’s, eyes pinched closed as Robert gives his erection another tug, fingers catching dryly at the head.

“Here,” Robert confirms, letting go of Joseph to give his pants a shove, managing to get them down to mid-thigh. Good enough. “There’s lube in the side table, unless you pitched it when you went all Danny Tanner on the place.” Joseph shakes his head frantically, like he doesn’t know Robert’s kidding. Robert kisses him, hands at his jaw. “Then let’s go, big boy.”

“You realize you don’t actually live in a porno, right?” Joseph asks, even as he steps away to do Robert’s bidding. Robert shrugs.

“I walked in from a business trip to find a hot cleaning guy in my house, and now I’m about to get bent over the couch. Sure seems like a classic porno script.”

Joseph snaps the side drawer closed with a flourish, brandishing the lube in Robert’s direction. “And you do keep this stuff in stock all around the house,” he concedes, stepping back into Robert’s space.

“I rest my case,” Robert says, muffled in the press of Joseph’s mouth. He spreads his legs as much as he can, movements restricted by the trousers still caught around his legs. Joseph is unperturbed, lube-slick fingers slipping up the cleft of his ass, pressing cooly to the hot skin of his entrance. “Two, please,” Robert requests, letting Joseph mark his throat with bruises to match the ones on his hips.

“Robert,” Joseph hesitates, fingers curling nervously. “It’s been a while.” He bites a little harder, though, and Robert smiles.

“Nah. I fooled around some last night, thinking about you.”

“Jesus,” Joseph spits out, holding him tighter. Enough to crush the breath from his lungs, and Robert’s next words come out a bit strained.

“Now, Joseph, you know we don’t take the Lord’s name in vain in my - fuck.”

Robert’s teasing is cut off by the inward press of Joseph’s fingers; two, as per request, long and slender and perfect. Robert shifts back, leaning into it, hands coming up to clutch at Joseph’s shoulders. “Don’t go easy,” Robert tells him, and for once in his life, Joseph listens the first time.

In no time, he has Robert worked open and worked up, manhandling him into position over the couch, Robert too blissed-out to be much help. Joseph kicks his feet apart, hand at the back of Robert’s neck forcing him down, chest pressed to Robert’s back just like he imagined. Except it’s better, because he can also feel Joseph’s hot, thick cock snugged up against his opening, waiting. “Joe, come on,” Robert begs, too gone to care how it sounds. “Need you.”

“Need a condom,” Joseph retorts, breathless. Robert groans exasperatedly. Why do they always let it get to this point before remembering the fucking things. He has half a mind just to tell him to forget it. He’d gotten tested after he realized Joseph wanted to make this a regular thing, but he’s not sure about Joseph’s own situation. He might only have been with Mary in the last ten years, but Robert isn’t sure the same can be said of her. He also doesn’t know how to broach the subject with Joseph because no one says ‘hey, man, can you get tested before you stick your dick in me, even though you’ve only been giving it to your wife, because who knows where she’s been?’ It’s easier for everyone involved to just use the fucking condom.

“Wallet,” Robert gasps. Joseph reaches for the pants that have slipped to Robert’s knees by now, digging the wallet out and tossing it on the couch once he’s retrieved the rubber. Robert feels the motion of his hands as he rolls it on, pressed together as they are. “Hurry up, I’m dying here.”

Joseph bites him, just above his ribs, where the skin is most sensitive. Robert moans brokenly, pushing back against Joseph as he eases in. Every inch is like fire until he’s fully seated, and then it’s like an inferno. He’s sweated through his shirt at this point, jacket going tight around his arms as the two stick. Joseph’s still wearing his polo, and the stifling warmth of three layers of clothes as he lies across Robert’s back has sweat running in Robert’s eyes like a stream. He buries his face in the cushions, Joseph’s fingers going tight against the back of his neck, holding him in place.

“You okay?” Joseph sounds winded, like he’s been running sprints. Robert nods as best he can, grinding his pelvis into Joseph’s behind him.

“Fuck me, church boy.” The snap of Joseph’s hips drives Robert against the couch, trapping his dick, and goddamn if this isn’t some brutal shit. Joseph fucks him like they’ve been apart three years instead of three days, driving up into him with the kind of accuracy that has Robert reciting his name. Once Joseph’s sure he isn’t going anywhere, the hand around his neck slides down to join the other one at his hip. Joseph straightens up, grip punishing, guiding Robert back and forth with the rhythm of his thrusts. Robert is too into it to try and make any adjustments. Joseph’s cock is perfect, pressing up and filling out in ways that never fail to leave Robert a wreck. He’s never going to be able to give this up.

There’s heat, a different kind than the one that has Joseph’s hands slipping on his hips, the kind that licks along his nerve endings until the need to come is all Robert can focus on. It’s too good, too fast, and Robert lets it ride. “Baby, how we doin’ back there?”

Joseph has gone quiet like he does when he’s this wound up, but he looses a sharp groan at the sound of Robert’s voice. He starts fucking him in short, pointed thrusts that have Robert whimpering. “You feel so. Fucking. Good.” He punctuates each word with a direct thrust against Robert’s prostate, which, in combination with the sound of the swear in Joseph’s deep voice, has pleasure pooling hot and urgent in Robert’s gut. Each push of Joseph’s hips drives the breath from his lungs. Robert lifts his head to try to pull more air in, if only to be able to tell Joseph.

“Honey, you better touch me soon, or I’m gonna come without ever getting your pretty hands on my dick, and I’m not gonna be very happy about it.”

Joseph’s laugh is as good as any aphrodisiac, and Robert’s stomach tightens warningly. Joseph uses his grip on Robert’s waist to shift him back a little, enough to fit one hand between him and the couch. Joseph’s fingers catch the precum gathering at the tip to ease the glide, wasting no time before matching the pace of his hand to his thrusts.

“Joseph, fuck, don’t stop. Just…right like that, please.” Robert’s entreaties trail off into one long, low groan as he comes all over Joseph’s hand. And the back of his couch. Fuck. He can’t bring himself to worry about it too much, not when he feels like this, every nerve singing in pleasure, black spots at the edges of his vision, Joseph at his back.

Joseph’s hands come to rest alongside Robert’s on the back of the couch, knuckles white. “Do you need me to…” he grunts, slowing his movements to practically nothing in deference to Robert’s orgasm.

Robert turns his head, nudging Joseph’s face up into a kiss. “Come in me, come on me, I don’t give a fuck, as long as it happens in the next five seconds,” Robert growls, voice shot through with glass. Joseph bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, hips resuming their frantic pace, nearly sending Robert sprawling over the couch. He braces, tries to meet Joseph’s thrusts, but they’re erratic with the urgency of release.

“Shit, Robert, shit, I -” Joseph presses in deep and holds, coming in long pulses that Robert can feel, despite the barrier between them. He never stops kissing Robert, tongue in his throat, deep like he thinks he can taste himself if he goes far enough. Robert bears down on his cock, milking him for all he’s worth, and Joseph moans incredulously.

They’re quiet for a long time, kissing breathlessly, sweat drying between them. Robert thinks they may just stick together, then reasons it wouldn’t be the worst thing. Eventually, Joseph breaks away, fingers coming up to touch the spot of blood on Robert’s lip. He looks more worried than a man who just came his brains out should be capable of.

“Did I hurt you?”

Robert thinks about denying it, but Joseph truly values honesty. It would mean more to him than an empty reassurance. “Not any more than I wanted you to.”

Joseph frowns, a little, eyes dropping to the bruises at Robert’s throat. Robert takes one of his hands, leads it to the matching bruises on his hip, moaning deliberately when Joseph presses, curious.

“I like it,” Robert promises when Joseph meets his eyes again. He leans in for another brief kiss, rubbing his nose along the length of Joseph’s own. “Feel free to rough me up whenever the mood strikes ya.”

Joseph returns the kiss, then rests a hand at the small of Robert’s back as he finally pulls out, soft cock slipping free easily. Robert groans at the loss anyway. He’s suddenly exhausted, like Joseph had taken every ounce of his limited energy with him. Joseph leaves his side briefly, coming back once he’s disposed of the condom. He’s also pulled off his ruined clothing, acres of his gorgeous, pale skin coming into Robert’s line of sight. He’d reach out to touch him if he could muster the strength to lift a hand. As it is, he just watches him, cheek pressed to the stiff back of the couch, still bent over on display in front of God and everyone.

“Much as I love how it looks, we need to get you out of that suit,” Joseph insists, scraping Robert’s sweaty hair back from his tacky forehead, using the grip to guide Robert upright. Fuck, maybe Robert is going to regret giving him permission to manhandle him.

 _Or not_ , he thinks as Joseph crouches, getting a shoulder under Robert and lifting him easily, slung over his back like a sack of potatoes. “Now this is service,” Robert observes as they head for the bedroom, pausing only to blow out the candle that’s burned nearly all the way down anyway.

Joseph laughs, squeezing him. “Remember when you carried me up those stairs?” he asks, dumping Robert on the bed and squatting in front of him to begin yanking his shoes off.

“I’d rather not,” Robert replies, haughty. He remembers he’d nearly died, both from the effort and from trying to hide his imminent death from Joseph.

“Aw, it was sexy,” Joseph teases, grabbing the cuffs of Robert’s pants and pulling them off in one swift movement. He leaves the briefs, reaching out to help Robert shimmy them back up around his hips. Joseph’s fingers linger over the bruises once more, bending his head to leave faint kisses on a few. Robert spreads his arms out, letting Joseph unbutton his shirt and shove it and the jacket off his shoulders. He rolls to the side, and Joseph scoops them up, dumping everything over the edge of the bed and stretching out along Robert’s side.

“You’re sexy,” Robert answers, belatedly, eyes already closed. He’s missed sleep. He’s gonna sleep, now.

Joseph snorts into his chest, reaching to pull the comforter over them both. “Go to sleep, Robbie.”

“Fuck off, Joey.”

Joseph laughs, and Robert lets the sound lull him to sleep.

 

-x-

 

It’s still dark when Robert wakes up, and not just because he has blackout curtains in the bedroom. The digital clock across the room is showing 5:17 a.m., and Robert shut his eyes again with a groan. Too goddamn early. He wonders what woke him in the first place, until he feels it again.

Joseph is running his hand over his stomach, sweeping up over his ribs and down past his hipbones. Robert can see the comment on the tip of his tongue, even with his eyes closed.

"Out with it."

"You're still really thin," Joseph blurts immediately, not at all surprised, like he's been waiting for Robert to wake up. He presses his fingers to the hollows between Robert's ribs, as if to prove his point. Robert catches his hand and guides it down, curling their entwined fingers around his faintly stirring cock. Joseph must have been touching him for a while if his cock is interested already.

"This fat enough for you?"

Joseph huffs a breath, the squeeze of his fingers stealing Robert's own. "You're so crass sometimes, you know that? I'm trying to show a little concern for your well-being and you just-"

Robert rolls over suddenly, crushing Joseph beneath him and taking his mouth in a harsh kiss. "If I were any heavier, that woulda really hurt."

Robert's back hits the mattress once again with a resounding thump. Joseph grins down into his shocked face, hands at Robert's wrists, sitting back on his thighs. "I eat my veggies and take my vitamins," he brags, holding Robert easily even as he struggles. "Have you eaten at all today?"

Joseph clambers off, and Robert drops his head back with a groan. “It’s barely even ‘today’ yet,” he grouses, flinging an arm over his eyes dramatically when Joseph flips on the lamp beside the bed. “When would I have eaten?”

“Fine, yesterday, Mr. Precise.” Joseph is in Robert’s closet, rustling hangers as he looks for something to wear.

“What are you doing?” Robert whines, sitting up under great protest from his limbs. “Come back to bed.”

Joseph emerges in his own sweater, the one he’d never quite managed to wrest away from Robert since that first night. He smirks at the look on Robert’s face, flexing a little. “I’m going to fix you a healthy breakfast.”

“It’d be a lot healthier at, oh, say noon?” Robert tries to lie back down, but Joseph catches his elbow, yanking sharply. “Josephhh,” Robert complains, letting himself be pulled from bed. He’s not sure he could put up a fight against Joseph, anyway. “A man needs his rest.”

“A man can take a nap later,” Joseph chides, guiding Robert into a pair of joggers, sneaking another gratuitous squeeze of his half-hard cock in the process. Robert groans again, humping against the pressure until Joseph pulls away.

“We could get in a little workout before breakfast?” Robert suggests hopefully, but Joseph just laughs. Wow.

Robert trails behind him as he bebops his way down the stairs, far too chipper at this ungodly hour. 5 a.m. is for falling into bed, not dragging out of it. Joseph rewards him for making it to the kitchen with a lingering kiss before pushing him down on a stool at the counter.

“I was thinking,” Joseph starts, making a beeline for the fridge. Robert drops his chin into his hands, elbows on the counter, waiting. “Maybe we could take the yacht out today? The kids have a play date, all four of them, so my afternoon is free.” He smiles hopefully across the room at Robert, carton of eggs he must have bought in his hand. Robert hasn’t bought eggs since Val lived here.

Blame it on the hour, or the distracting memories of his daughter, but Robert doesn’t even think before he blurts: “Probably not a good idea to return to the scene of the crime so soon.” He almost claps a hand over his mouth. 5 a.m. is the devil’s hour, he’s sure of it now. It’s definitely not the time to get into this.

_Too late._

“Scene of what crime?” Joseph asks, confused. He’s halfway through pulling a skillet from the cabinet, sweater riding up on his hips as he reaches. Robert wants him to whack him over the head with the thing.

Robert blows out a slow breath. There’s no point trying to backtrack now. He should have done this on the phone from California three days ago. “Okay, don’t freak out,” he says, keeping his tone even and calm, like he’s soothing a spooked horse. It seems to unsettle Joseph more than anything. Fuck. “The last time we stayed on your boat…” Robert swallows, steeling himself, “an old busybody from your church saw you leave in the morning -”

“How is that a crime?” Joseph interrupts, bewildered. “It’s my boat?”

“I’m getting there, shut up a minute,” Robert snaps, instantly regretting it. He adopts the calm voice again, with more effort. “She saw you leave…and then a few minutes later, she saw me leave.” Robert keeps his eyes on the counter, picking at a chipped spot in the varnish. “She lit up the prayer chain, and by now every yenta in your church has probably heard it.” He flinches at the sound of the skillet dropping on the stove, waiting for Joseph’s reaction. As long as he can weather the initial storm, Robert knows he can get them through this relatively unscathed. He’s got a mean glare to back up his menacing persona. It’s enough to send any meek bible-thumper scrambling for cover. He thinks.

Robert chances at glance up at Joseph after several seconds of deafening silence. He’s still standing at the stove, looking like he’s struggling to decide what to ask first. Robert lets him work it out. The first rule of coming clean is never offer more information than requested.

“Who…I mean how did you…who saw us?” Joseph manages eventually, settling on the most obvious question. Robert is grateful.

“Esther…” _Shit, what’s the nosy bitch’s last name?_ “Esther something,” Robert finishes lamely. It’s a rather significant moment in his life. You’d think he’d be able to remember her goddamn name, at least.

It seems it doesn’t matter. Joseph obviously knows who he’s talking about. He’s gone pale as a sheet, overhead lighting revealing the dots of perspiration that have broken out on his forehead. Robert grips the edges of the stool to keep himself from going to him.

“Who told you that?” Joseph croaks. The most damning question, save for ‘how long have you known?’. “Robert?” Joseph prompts, thin as ice. Robert closes his eyes.

“Mary.”

“When?” And the hits keep coming.

“Sunday night.”

Joseph releases a disbelieving gust of breath. “Let me get this straight,” he says, voice shaking slightly. Robert sneaks a glance at him to find he’s turned his back to Robert, hands braced on the counter opposite his, head hanging between his shoulders. “You found this out, from my wife, four days ago, and you’re just now getting around to telling me?”

“Well, technically it’s been three days.” Joseph spins around, thunderous expression on his face, and Robert backtracks quickly. “No, I’m sorry, I know I should have told you sooner. I was going to, but I got that call Monday morning and -”

“And a fucking business trip was more important than telling me that my life is over?” He’s shouting now, hands balled into fists at his sides, and Robert feels his own hackles rise.

“I wouldn’t say it’s over, Joe, it just -”

"Why didn't you wait to get off later? Why'd you have to come out right after me?" Joseph hisses, interrupting him again. Robert sees red.

"Oh yeah, sorry I couldn't anticipate Esther the sleuth and her incredible powers of deduction," he snaps, half rising from his seat. “Don't you dare try to pin this on me. I get that you’re frustrated, but take it out on someone else, yeah? I ain’t your punching bag.”

“I thought you knew we have to be discreet about this,” Joseph yells back, gesturing between them. He starts pacing, hands in his hair, throwing sharp glances Robert’s way. “This is an affair, Robert. I thought you were familiar with the way affairs are conducted." His tone is nasty, intending to wound. Robert takes it in stride.

"Yeah, I'm real familiar,” he agrees, not looking away now. This is too important. “That ain't what this is."

Joseph stills, meeting Robert's eye. There's so much fear in his gaze. He's terrified, Robert knows, scared stiff at the prospect that his little tryst has grown into this monster of feelings and complications. “How was Mary taking it?” His normal voice sounds like a whisper after the shouting. Robert can hear the pain in it, which is the only thing that stops him from pressing Joseph, forcing him to admit that what they have goes beyond some sleazy affair.

“You said it yourself, Joe,” Robert says, soft. “She already knew.”

“There’s a difference between knowing for yourself and having everyone you know clued in as well,” Joseph snaps, the strain around his eyes testament to how hard he’s taking this. “Why didn’t she say anything to me?”

Robert sits back down, all the fight temporarily gone out of him. “She wanted…I mean I guess she just wanted to see where you want to go from here.” Robert fixes him with a meaningful look, trying to convey where he wants it to go from here. Joseph isn’t paying attention. He’s turned away, cracking eggs into the skillet with practiced precision. “So what happens now?”

Joseph doesn't pause, but Robert can see the way his shoulders tighten. He's deep into his 'everything is fine' psyche, now. Robert wants to hit him, just to see it crack.

"Well,” he says slowly, searching Robert’s drawers for a spatula. Robert knows he only owns one, and it’s covered in so much rust you risk tetanus just looking at it. Joseph closes the drawer on it with a wrinkle of his nose, settling for a fork. “I won't tell you how I know, but one of my parishioners' daughters is pregnant out of wedlock, so as soon as that hits the prayer chain, the pressure will be off." He shoots Robert his trademark smile, the one that's faker than the jar of ‘real’ Mexican salsa he’s unearthed from another cabinet. It’s hard to believe this is the same man who was yelling across the kitchen at him moments ago. The shift in demeanor is absolutely unnerving, and Robert feels a flash of sympathy for Mary. She’s had to put up with years of this facade. "We just have to lay low in the meantime," Joseph finishes, poking at the eggs.

Robert frowns at his back. "I thought that's what we've been doing."

"Apparently not very well," Joseph mutters, mostly to himself, pointedly trying to remain cool.

Robert lets it go, unwilling to get back into a shouting match. They’ve got more important things to discuss now, and it’s obvious that Robert is going to have to drag some real feeling out of Joseph. He steels himself for the conversation he's dreaded having since they started this...thing. He had hoped they’d both kinda come to the same realization; that they love each other and want to be together, and everything else would just sort of fall into place. He doesn’t need anyone to tell him what a naive asshole he’d been. "I think it's time we talk about what this is."

“What what is?” Joseph asks, folding salsa into his meager omelettes studiously. Robert picks up a pen laying on the counter and chucks it at his back. It bounces off harmlessly, but Joseph turns around with a scandalized expression. “What!”

“Stop being obtuse!” Robert demands. “This!” He makes the same sort of gesture Joseph had, though it’s less violent. “You and me. Us.”

Joseph stares at him, expression unreadable. Robert thinks he might kill for a little genuine emotion, even if it’s anger again. “What about us?”

Robert flails his hands around, sputtering. “What are we?” he asks, uncaring how high school it sounds. Check yes or no, Joseph, and hurry the fuck up. “Especially now that most of the town probably assumes we’re sleeping together.” Joseph flinches, but Robert ignores him, plowing ahead. “This is your chance to define what we are, once and for all.”

Joseph is shaking his head, looking at Robert like he’s sprouted another head. "I just...I don't...what do you want me to say? What do you expect us to do? We can't...parade around town, hand in hand, if that’s what you’re asking.” The eggs are starting to burn, unattended, smoke curling towards the ceiling, but that’s not what’s making Robert sick to his stomach.

“Why not?” he asks, quietly. Joseph turns away to shut the burner off, dumping the skillet into the sink to run water over the smoldering remains of their potentially wonderful breakfast. God, if that isn’t a glaring fucking metaphor. Joseph faces him again, arms crossed over his chest. He opens his mouth, but Robert beats him to it. “This is your chance, Joseph. You’re gonna be free.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Joseph explodes, throwing his hands up. Robert watches, invisible fingers capturing his heart in a death grip. “Free from what? My job? The calling I’ve dedicated my life to? The family I’ve built? The respect of my community? Of my God?” His voice gets higher with each subsequent question, until his throat closes, tears shining in his beautiful eyes. Robert crosses the space between them in three strides, pulling Joseph into his arms. He goes without resistance, fingers scrambling for purchase on Robert’s bare back.

“Free from the need to fake it anymore, baby. You’ve got an out, now. All you gotta do is take it.”

“I don’t want an out,” Joseph insists stubbornly, tears burning their contradiction into Robert’s skin. “I want…everything to be the way it was.”

“When?” Robert challenges, bile rising in his throat. “When everyone thought you and Mary were the world’s most perfect couple? Earlier? When you _were_ the world’s most perfect couple?”

Joseph shakes his head, pulling back. His cheeks are stained with tear tracks. Robert forces himself not to wipe them away. “No, not…I’m not worried about me and Mary. We’re…what we are. I just want things to be the way they were before we, you and me ‘we’, were up for discussion in a public forum.”

“So…what?” Robert asks slowly, hoping it’s not what he thinks it is. “You want things to stay the same?”

“Yes!” Joseph enthuses, like he’s pleased Robert finally understands. He presses their mouths together, Robert passively taking the kiss. “And I think it can,” Joseph breaks away to say, holding him tighter. “If we just let things blow over. I’ll address the rumor, say it’s baseless. Without lying, of course,” he adds hastily, like he thinks Robert will reprimand him. “I’ll just give a sermon on the pitfalls of engaging in gossip. Maybe talk about the importance of being there for friends, no matter what kind of censor it might bring. They can draw their own conclusions from that, right? Robert?” He says it all with the arrogance afforded by youth; the confidence of someone who’s never truly had their ass handed to them by the universe. You can plan all you want, Robert wants to say, down to the last excruciating detail. But life don’t work like that.

Robert draws away, detaching Joseph’s arms from around his neck. Joseph, for all his muscle and height and personality, suddenly looks small.

“That’s not what I want,” Robert tells him. He has to force himself to say the words. It’d be so easy to give in, let Joseph call the shots, play whatever role he wants, so long as it means he can have him for those stolen moments together. Robert would sell his soul for the chance to touch Joseph’s skin. Joseph’s offering him that chance.

But it’s not enough.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Joseph’s voice is worried, tight the way it gets when he hasn’t performed a task to the best of his abilities. Robert can see the wheels turning, the alternate solutions churning out, the desire to please.

“I can’t be your dirty little secret anymore, Joe. I know it’s supposed to be what I’m good at, the no-strings-attached thing, but -”

“Babe, that’s not what you are,” Joseph tries, moving close again. Robert stays him with a hand at his chest.

“I want to be with you.”

“You _are_ with me! You’re here with me, right now,” Joseph insists, covering the hand on his chest. Tracing Robert’s tattoo, an unconscious attempt to comfort.

God, the fucking tattoo.

Robert shakes his head. Joseph’s fingers tighten, painful.

“No, I mean I want to _be_ with you,” Robert tries to explain, curling his fingers into the soft material of Joseph’s (his?) sweater. “I want you with me. Just me.”

“Robert, I don’t understand. You know Mary and I aren’t -”

“I love you.”

Robert’s voice is soft, but he might as well have shouted for how it echoes. Robert can see the scene like how it must look from the outside. Disheveled, tired, heartbroken. Tall, golden, dumbstruck. Holding onto each other desperately in the middle of a smoky kitchen while the world crumbles around them.

“What?” Joseph breathes, and the atmosphere shifts, shatters irreparably. He sounds devastated.

“I love you,” Robert repeats, freer now that he's already said it.

“No, I heard, I just…what?” Joseph’s voice is shaking again.

“I love you. Like…I'm in love with you.” Robert leans in, pressing their foreheads together. “I love you,” he whispers, eyes closed. “I love you, and I want to be with you. I want you in my house. In my bed. And not just for a couple hours at a time. I want you always. Hell, I’d marry you tomorrow if you said yes. But I want you.”

A mantra picks up in his head, stolen from a show he'd binge-watched on a lonely weekend when Joseph was out of town. One part in particular had stuck with him, comically close to his own situation. Or it would be comical, if it weren't so damn sad.

_Pick me. Choose me. Love me._

“Robert, I’m already married.”

“I know.”

_Pick me._

"I can't be divorced and be a leader in the church.”

“I know.”

_Choose me._

“Robert…I can't.”

“I know.”

_Love me._

“Robert, I don’t…where is this coming from? I thought what we had was good. I thought you wanted something more…casual? I thought this was as far as you wanted this to go.”

Robert shoves him, unexpectedly. Joseph goes, but refuses to let go of Robert’s hand, so he goes with him. "You can crawl back into your little cave of denial, but don't try to drag me with you. This was never about just gettin' your rocks off with the neighbor." Robert twists his hand around to expose the tattoo, still unable to shake Joseph’s hold. "This ain't neighborly."

"It's just a nice design is all," Joseph hedges, not meeting his eye. "I thought you’d like it. It doesn't mean -"

"Oh bullshit, it fucking does 'mean'!" Robert interrupts, anger firing again at Joseph’s deliberate ignorance. “You’re gonna tell me that the only reason you wanted your tattoo on me was for the aesthetic? That you haven’t begged me to promise you that you’re the only one I’m screwing?” Robert jerks his head to side, baring the line of his throat, marked by Joseph’s mouth. “Gonna act like you don’t stake your claim every chance you get?”

Joseph’s eyes trace the marks, muscle in his jaw working silently.

“You can’t have it both ways, Joe. You can’t expect fidelity and then stay with your wife.”

“I think staying with my wife is the definition of fidelity, Robert,” Joseph says tightly, and Robert laughs.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself. You know that’s not what I meant.”

Joseph’s fingers twitch against Robert’s hand, but he still doesn’t let go. “So, what, you want to sleep with other people? Is that what you’re saying?”

Robert wants to scream, is what he wants.

“No, you absolute fucking idiot! What part of ‘I love you’ is so hard to understand?”

“The part where it wasn’t supposed to happen!” Joseph yells back, frustrated. “The only reason I let this happen is because I thought you would never try to make it more than it could be!”

Robert laughs again, hollowly. “‘Let this happen’? Honey, you fucking pulled me into it by the roots of my hair.”

“We both made choices,” Joseph says, loftily. Perfect fucking Joseph, back up on his high horse. Robert is so tired.

“Yeah, we did. And I’m making another now.” Robert wrenches free of Joseph’s grasp, putting several feet of space between them. Joseph’s hand hangs, suspended for a moment, before he drops it to his side. “It’s time for you to go.”

Joseph makes a noise, half surprise, half anguish. “Robert…”

“What else is there, baby?” Robert offers him a weak smile, resigned. “You got a life to lead.”

Joseph doesn’t move, just watching him. Robert looks back, memorizing the sight of him framed by Robert’s shabby kitchen. He’s a fallen angel, Robert thinks, not for the first time. His golden hair is in disarray, from sex and sleep and stress. The blue of his eyes seems brighter than ever, standing out with the help of the loose-fitting sweater. He can nag all he wants about Robert’s weight, but Robert is still broader. The neck of the sweater hangs loosely, stretched by Robert’s ample shoulders.

“What about you?” Robert almost misses the question, caught up as he is in Joseph’s eyes. He smiles, a little more genuinely.

“I got you to get over.”

Joseph catches him up in his arms, spinning around to hoist him up on the counter. Robert’s hands find his tousled hair, meeting him halfway in a messy, desperate kiss. Joseph steps close, between Robert’s spread thighs, reaching up while he drags Robert down. Literally and figuratively, it seems. Robert is too weak to deny him this.

“I don’t want you to get over me,” Joseph murmurs, pressing reverent kisses to Robert’s face before coming back to his mouth. Robert lets himself be kissed for all he’s worth, ankles hooking behind Joseph’s knees. “You can get under me, if you’d like, but please don’t -”

Robert kisses him harder, to shut him up. His resolve is already paper-thin. He can’t let Joseph talk him out of this. “I ain’t gonna pine after you.” _Not again._ It’s an answer, a firm promise. It has its intended effect.

Joseph makes a soft sound, like console. Like acceptance. The fervor is gone, but Joseph still doesn’t move back, kisses petering out until he’s just brushing their mouths together. Robert tastes tears, isn’t sure whose, doesn’t open his eyes to find out. He takes Joseph’s face in his hands, kissing his forehead, eyelids, the bridge of his aquiline nose. Robert’s hands settle on Joseph’s shoulders, next, pressing him back. He still doesn’t open his eyes. His heart aches.

“Go home to your wife, Joe.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry. please know that i'm as sad as you are, and that there's a third installment in the works to hopefully help these boys out.
> 
> robert drives a maroon, 1992, chevy s10 pickup. not because that's what my dad drove when i was growing up and it's the best truck ever. because that's what he drives.
> 
> title taken from here [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EXVcWq0f9OM/)


End file.
